


Demotion

by themuller



Category: James Bond (Classic movies), James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Foot Massage, Gen, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Racism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:42:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25106389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themuller/pseuds/themuller
Summary: Once again, Moneypenny needs the support of her cousin Charles.
Relationships: Eve Moneypenny & Charles Robinson
Comments: 5
Kudos: 8
Collections: 007 Fest Fancreations





	Demotion

Moneypenny closed the office door silently behind herself. It took a herculean effort not to bang it shut and stomp off in rage. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to calmly walk down the corridor, away from M’s office. She went to the locker room, but instead of changing her clothes, she just took her bag. Before leaving Six, she sent a text to Charlie, telling him she will be at his place in twenty minutes and he better put out the good stuff.

Her feet were killing her, when she finally arrived at the looming tower building, which held Charlie’s small council flat. He had replied to her text with a thumbs up. Passing the lift, untrustworthy at best, a death trap on its worst days, she took the stairs, cursing her decision not to change into her sneakers.

Eight flights of stairs later, greeting several youngsters, who were playing a kind of hide and seek in the staircase, as well as two of the older residents, who were exchanging the newest gossip on one of the steps on her way up, she could finally see the half open door to Charlie’s flat. _No sense for security_ , she thought. Then shook her head. Charlie had nothing to hide, not yet. And this place was probably more secure than any of those posh places at the other end of London with their receptions and high walls and whatnot. For one, making it to the eighth floor without meeting any of the other residents any time of night or day was practically impossible. And everybody knew each other in this place. A stranger would be noticed right away.

She walked through the open door, closed it behind her, threw her bag on the floor and stepped out of her shoes with an almost filthy moan. Charlie watched her from the living room.

“You should really consider sneakers,” he said with a smirk.

“Shut it, cousin.”

Moneypenny walked past him and threw herself on the well-worn sofa. On the coffee table were two unmatched water glasses and a bottle of scotch. Moneypenny stretched her legs on the sofa, sighing contently. She closed her eyes and drew in a breath.

“You’ve cooked?” she sounded almost alarmed.

Charlie had retreated to the kitchen, which was made up by a fridge, an electric kettle and a hob with a pot on it, placed in one corner of the living room.

“No such luck, Evy,” Charlie answered with a grin, rummaging through the cupboard for plates. “Ernie came over with some leftovers. Thought you could need some food.”

“Ernie? Is he your newest conquest?”

“Yup, and he is a bloody good cook,” Charlie elaborated.

“Well, try to keep him for once,” Moneypenny suggested.

“We’ll see,” Charlie replied, non-committal.

He found the plates and filled them with some of the stew from the pot. Moneypenny’s stomach grumbled as the delicious smell wafted through the room. A companionable silence filled the room, as both of them emptied their dishes. After they had finished, Charlie cleaned the dishes, while Moneypenny tried to find a soap or movie or the telly. Something easy going. Eventually, Charlie returned with two steaming mugs of tea and placed them beside the whisky on the table.

He sat down on the other end of the sofa, placing Moneypenny’s legs in his lap and began massaging her feet. Moneypenny let her head fall back, relishing the feeling of warm hands kneading along the side of first one foot, then the other. Fingers adeptly squeezing and pulling each toe, soft but firm, applying just the right kind of pressure.

“Tell me,” Charlie said quietly as he changed from Moneypenny’s left foot to her right.

“Remember, I told you about my mission in Istanbul? The one that went tits up two weeks ago?”

“When you shot one of the agents?”

“Yeah.”

Moneypenny turned to reach for the whisky. Charlie bent forward and filled one of the glasses, then gave it to her. She smiled thankfully at him.

“Got demoted today.”

Charlie stopped the massage.

“You, what?!”

Moneypenny pushed her feet into his side, not wanting him to stop. He looked appalled at her.

“But. You’d told them it wasn’t a clean shot!”

Moneypenny harrumphed.

“Apparently following direct orders in such a situation is seen as ‘a lack of initiative’,” she showed the quotation marks with one finger, taking a sip from the whisky.

She could feel the anger grow inside of her. M, the very M who had barked into the phone to take the shot, now standing in her office, giving Moneypenny a dressing down in front of Tanner and this newbie Q, barely out of college going by the spots on his face. And then just dismissing her, telling her to return Monday to work as her secretary.

“Want to take it out on potato man?”

Charlie indicated the sandbag hanging from the ceiling in the other corner of his room. Moneypenny huffed, but then got up and put on the gloves. Imaging M’s face on top of the sandbag, she began punching. It felt liberating, and the first tentative jabs were turned into a furious pounding, as she began to shout abuse at the bag. Twenty minutes later, she was left breathless, her arms shaking with the exhaustion, as she sank into the corner, crying.

Charlie let her be. Instead he went into the bathroom and drew a hot bath. When he returned, Moneypenny had taken the gloves off and was sitting on the sofa, looking blankly at the window.

“Come here, Evy. Your bath is ready.”

She got up and walked into the bathroom with heavy steps. She took off her clothes, angrily throwing them in a heap at the door. She had another set of clothes in her bag. Leisure clothes. Not working clothes. And sneakers.

The bath was divine. Charlie’s choice of bathing oil matched her mood perfectly. It wasn’t the first time, and it was most definitely not the last time, either of them had thrown a fit regarding their working places. Both Charlie and she had been sacked countless times, because the smallest missteps were used as an excuse to get rid of them. Moneypenny contemplated if a demotion was better than being made redundant. As it was, she couldn’t decide whether she would have preferred one for the other.

No matter what, auntie Jinx had always told them to keep fighting. She had never sugar coated the antagonism they would be receiving from the other side. So, Moneypenny got up and out of the cooling water. Once again, she was ready for the world to throw sticks and stones in her way. Putting on the clean clothes, she stepped out of the bathroom. Charlie and she would have one of their late-night talks, him being supportive and optimistic, wanting to become a part of MI6 himself; her being frustrated and pessimistic, warning about the inherent racism and discrimination. They would look at photographs, and tell the stories of auntie Jinx, of their family ties with Six, with the NSA, going back several generations by now.

In the end, Moneypenny would sleep on the sofa, wake up in the morning, and prepare to face another day.


End file.
